Double edged sword
by Lee majors come again
Summary: Challenge accepted. A short series of tales documenting the journey of Ophelia and Raki as they attempt to slaughter Clare and Priscilla. Complete with reversed rolls, plot twists, bleak hopelessness, and my lazy work ethic.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Claymore.

Chapter 1: Seven year's

**A/N: **So I saw this thing on here about a story with Raki and Ophelia after lurking hardcore. I'm taking a hiatus on my other story, mainly cause I want to do something other than a lovee-dovee tale about an estranged relationship tainted by the involvement of other parties, but also cause this is cool. I'm going to experiment with various elements, but shy away from love and relationships. More closer to horror or pain and the likes. I'm debating on whether or not I should make it Raki centric or Ophelia centric. So yeah, suggestions would be nice, cause I came into this wanting to do something different but not knowing what I wanted. Either way, hope you enjoy my junk!

* * *

"Dammit Raki! Cut the bitch's head off, we went over this!" Ophelia screamed through the gurgling of her own blood.

The man, now a well built fortress of muscle and an offsetting void of feelings, stood battered and conflicted. His sword was readied to land the decisive blow on his former friend, Clare. She was barely alive however she could still see him brooding over her broken body. He was the only one who could even use his legs on the entire batlefield. Which as was strange, considering he was still human.

Dead corpses littered the land as far as the eye could see. The one who surpasses the abyssals, known formally as Priscilla, was motionless, filled to the brim with the blades belonging to dozens of Claymores; her head was probably somewhere under a pile of the organization's finest. The other abyssal's entrails were either digested, or spread across the war zone. It was the outcome of an epic finale, spearheaded by the Organization, the abyssals, and the rogue warriors.

For some reason, his blade hadn't came down on her yet, which angered the single braided combatant.

"If I could move I'd snatch that sword and do it myself." She said to Raki before switching attention to Clare, although she was struggling to even speak at this point, "It's not... *gurgle*... You... Darling, it's not you, it's me really. You got away and that doesn't sit well with me."

Raki was silent. Clare's mouth said nothing, but the look in her eyes spoke meaningful words to him. They really didn't convey anything, as they were blank, empty, and emotionless. But the fact that he hadn't seen those eyes in seven years was what froze him. The fact that they looked straight dead into his eyes.

Her eyes brought back memories of the day that marked the beginning of his journey with the organization's number 4. The day his body, mind, and heart made a complete turn around. The beginning of his decent into insanity and obsession. Into a world dominated by the feeling of survival and vengeance. A world where he preferred not to think or feel.

* * *

**_...Seven years ago, in the woods after his departure from Clare..._**

* * *

"How does it feel, boy?" Said the warrior, standing smugly with her sword drenched in the blood of three different victims.

Today was Ophelia's lucky day. Two awakened beings and a human. She imagined splitting that girl apart like a chef would split a fish, but first, there could be no witnesses. Not even an innocent, if insanely brave, little boy.

On the other hand, there was Raki. Sword in hand and eyes sharp with focus, he stood in front of her attempting to hold his own. He didn't respond to her question. Instead, he gritted his teeth and prepared to face death. So soon. So fast.

Ophelia creeped slowly towards the young swordsman. Inching closer ever so eerily. "Just give up. She's not coming back for you."

Raki let out a thunderous battle cry and charged forward throwing a single downward chop. She easily deflected such an attack. He followed with a flurry of wild slashes attempting to land at least one, but no matter how he tried, she dodged each with little effort.

The malevolent smile she sported was given meaning by his immense failure, much to his chagrin. Soon he felt the sharp pain of multiple lacerations across his body. Blood splattered the golden dandelions and the blades of grass, as well as her malicious visage.

"What are you fighting for? I can feel her not far away from here, she must think I'm following her still." The calm tone of her voice coupled with her senseless laughter sent waves of disgust down his spine. "This is simply wonderful. Resisting the urge to chop you into halves is good for my discipline. You two are just so, _marvellous_."

"What's this? Giving up already?"

That's it. He fell to his knees after dropping his sword. It wasn't that his will to fight had died, but his body was fading in and out of consciousness. It's over. Hopefully he and Clare will once again meet each other on the other side. Tears from his eyes pummeled the earth like rain from a storm cloud.

"Jeez, it's really no fun if you don't squirm helplessly."

A swift kick to the face sent him looking up at the sky. Blood and sweat flew upon impact, painting everything in sight. As if he didn't already have trouble breathing, what with the gasping and choking on various bodily fluids, a foot stomped on his chest and twisted from left to right.

The last thing he saw was the red stained teeth in her wicked grin, and those evil

eyes.

Then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Claymore.

The Day of Decisions

Ophelia was in a league all by her lonesome, though it was hardly her fault. Not a single being alive truly cared for her, as she had no friends. An even smaller amount could find peace while being anywhere near her.

Furthermore, almost every creature she has ever made contact with feared her. The birds averted their course from the toxicity she exuded. Even the mightiest of Claymores turned their heads when they caught a glimpse of that smile she wore. A slight smile at times, mostly formal times. But when her senses were triggered it could change in a moments notice. One so maniacal. So psychotic. So repulsive to even the most iron willed..

Her back rested patiently against a stone pillar just on the outskirts of a small city, across from a small pond. Inside was her next assignment. To her left was an unconscious Raki, who had been out for the better part of two days. On a whim, or so she described it as, she chose to spare him his life. It wasn't out of pity, respect, or any normal human emotion; she couldn't really feel such things. The reason she kept him alive was to catch that girl. The girl with her idiotic aspirations. She would have to come looking for him because any moderately intelligent life form would've let him rot.

Two other Claymores accompanied her; two stiffly silent Claymores to be precise. Like all half-breeds, they attempted to mask the uneasy vibes they felt. It was of no use, though. Ophelia was used to the situation, so naturally she continued with her down time.

In her boredom she looked down to the ants marching past her feet to pass the time. They carried clips of leaves and other objects to and from a general direction, one leaving and one coming. It intrigued her. How creatures so weak and insignificant could be so well structured. They've been known to give their lives without hesitation for the sake of the colony. It made her laugh aloud hysterically.

Her laughter was enough to spark a reaction from one of the other Claymores."Just what's so funny to you?" Said the one with the half eaten apple in one hand. Apparently she hadn't taken a bite since Ophelia arrived, explained by the dark bruises that covered the apple.

"Oh nothing. It's just these ants, you see," replied Ophelia as she stomped on the line they walked, "Their existence amuses me. A pathetic way to live really. Everyday, walking extreme distances and facing certain death, despite nature giving them such minuscule bodies." She continued to step on each individual ant. Trying to snuff out any one that might not truly be dead.

The blonde looked confused. "Excuse me?"

"Why the world has allowed them to multiply to such numbers really makes me angry. So I take great pleasure in mashing every little miserable one of them I can see. I'd even go as far as to finding the colony and destroying every tunnel with my bare hands. So whenever I crush their squishy little insides, I imagine them screaming as they panick. That's what's so funny." Ophelia said with an eerie grin on her face.

"What the he..." The confused warrior tried to get a word out, but was swiftly interrupted by Ophelia.

The grin grew greater and wider, more sinister, gradually showing all of her teeth. "Shhhhhhhhhh," she said, "If you be really quiet, you can hear it. 'Help me ahhhh!" All the while a shadow cast upon her face. It contrasted greatly with those huge silver eyes. Prominently peering through the darkness that blanketed her features.

In the midst of her actions, a bone rattling crash was heard. Crumbling rock and brick, screaming men, women, and children all came from inside village. The sound was strong enough to stir Raki, causing her to remember his presence.

Her eyes watched the pond water ripple from the commotion. Waves pushed into one another trying to complete their course. The battle for space led to each row of water vibrating in a trance like motion. She watched as a large collection of liquid jumped into the air and crashed back into the pond, which gave her an idea.

Her hands hastily grabbed the wild hair of Raki's as he slept.

"Hey put the boy down!" Shouted the previously silent warrior, who's short cut hair and steely gaze was the foil that emphasized her curvaceous, feminine body. Unintentionally, her fists curled up and her back stiffened as she felt two silver irises peek past her figure. Ophelia paid no mind however. She simply ignored her and threw Raki into the pond.

His eyes opened shortly after he felt the water enter his nose and all other facial orifices, and he sunk down to the muddy bottom. The cloth on his pants brushing against the floor of the pool produced murky clouds. Liquids blurred his vision, but he kicked the ground beneath him with all his force despite it.

Because pushing against the pond was difficult for a groggy child, he thought to pry apart the water to make it easier. He felt the light through the blanket of green muddiness, inching closer to the surface.

Gasping heavily for air, he paddled towards the edge of the pond. It was too early for him to open his eyes thanks to how irritated they'd become by the dirty water. However, there were sounds of swords clashing just in front of him. He wanted to open his eyes to view the source so badly.

"Oh my, she's faster than expected!" Exclaimed the familiar and elated voice of a woman.

More clanks of metal were heard. As the seconds went by, the time in-between the noises grew shorter.

Finally, his eyes were able to see, but what he saw in front of him was terrifying. A huge awakened being stood tall, attacking and defending simultaneously. Inside of the monster's evil reptilian mouth were razor-sharp teeth. It was twice the size of each warrior, and its body was 4 times as wide. The arms were wide and long. Its legs were muscle-bound with spikes acting as armor.

Every strike thrown got deflected by its thick, shield like arms. Once an attack missed it would maliciously slash back at one of the assailants. This game played out until the woman with the short hair was stricken.

When she fell to her hands and knees, the other combatant exploded with fury. Long rubber-like appendages coiled across its arms, holding it in place. A roar was given, and the fight continued to grow even more gruesome. He noticed one of them was oddly inactive, though. The one with the single braid down her back.

She didn't do any attacking. She only jumped away from the monster's large free arm smashing down on her. Then, she turned around, and time moved in slow motion for that split second. He saw the elven ears that adorned the sides of her face. Those wicked eyes that looked cloaked in darkness. The splotches of blood on her lips, lips that formed an eerily satisfied smile. He saw Ophelia.

At this point he figured he had two options. Run and escape the creature, Ophelia, and any harm that could be done to him, or stick around and learn what happened before he got there. He weighed each choice heavily.

"Stop standing there! Do your job!" Shouted the struggling Claymore.

"Ahhh, but you two have such chemistry already. Maybe I should just hang back and let you handle it yourselves, hmm?" Ophelia retorted, with slight laughter in her tone.

Without warning, a huge flash of light emitted from the downed combatant. Grass and dirt flew in every direction. Blowing wind and crackling battered Raki's ears. It reminded him of Clare back at Rabona. The process of awakening. No Claymore could truly prevent its twisted grip on their soul. Sooner or later they all fall victim.

After looking closer he saw that the left half of her body was missing. At first glance, it was a good hit. But he didn't figure it was that good. On the ground around her was blood. Lots of thick red blood. Her muscle was visible as it rebuilt itself. Skin grew over exposed flesh like a wave of pale flowers blooming in a field of red carcasses.

However, before she could complete the regeneration she buckled down closer to the earth. The light flared and she looked strained; the others took notice as well. "No, no Deneve, don't give up! Your so close! Just hang in there a few more seconds!" Screamed the hysterical Claymore.

"I don't know. You sure she can make it? I mean, look at her. They should've never sent you two useless pieces of meat," Ophelia said calmly, "Your best attribute is that you can keep the awakened being off of me."

"Shut up! I knew we saw that symbol, I knew it. We should've never taken the job. We should've just listened to Miria." She sounded like she was going to cry.

Raki didn't know what to think. Twenty feet away there was a Claymore on the verge of awakening, Another five feet away was a battle between two strong opponents and passive being.

Those two choices didn't mean much anymore. He thought back to Rabona, to Clare. When she was on the cusp of humanity, she came back. She came back because of Raki's persistence.

Something in his heart woke up. It called to him. It told him not to sit on the sidelines. It told him to do the right thing. So he got out of the water, shook himself off, weathered the flying debris, and made his way closer to the prone person. Now he was in the middle of the action.

She couldn't stop the transformation. Her tears didn't stop the transformation. Instead, it only prolonged what she felt was the inevitable. He sprawled next to her quickly. Hoping not to catch the attention of Ophelia nor the awakened being. "Please God let this work." He said under his voice. He opened his arms and enveloped her. Holding on tight like back then. He wasn't going to let go.

Ophelia felt the change in atmosphere. She saw the trail of water leading to the scene.

Time passed by. Nobody made much movement. The awakening Claymore started to calm. Increasingly, these things agitated Ophelia.

This didn't sit well with her. All this acting she did, all the impulses. They would all mean nothing if she didn't get to slice apart the desired amount of limbs. Purposeful acts should have a purposeful outcome. Otherwise, there would've been no point to even agreeing to take this mission.

"Ugh. What an unfortunate turn of events." She said, readying her blade. Fingers gripping the hilt. In a quick and powerful movement she swung the huge sword upwards.

When the head of the monster rolled into Raki's view, he wasn't shocked. He's long since grown accustomed to the slaying of Yoma. The shocking thing was that Ophelia sat by idly with full knowledge of how weak it truly was. She could have killed it in one blow minutes ago.

"Deneve! Are you alright?" Said the woman covered in Yoma blood after running over to help her friend to her feet.

"I'm not sure. I think," her friend replied, "I think that, were it not for this boy here, I would've been next in line." Both she and the blood stained silver coated Claymore looked at him. His eyes wide from astonishment.

"Hey, I remember him. He's that boy Clare carried around." The blood on her face smeared with every word. She looked at Ophelia, who was just sitting there on that corpse. Hands clutched together in her lap over her crossed legs. Listening to their conversation, yet anxiously probing the air with her super human yoki senses. She looked back at Raki and said, "No freaking way."

"My name is Deneve, and that is Helen. Thank you for your help. I apologize for my friends' rude behavior, however, we do need to leave as soon as possible. We'll give Clare the word about your current whereabouts. Come on Helen." Said the previously wounded soldier, making her way opposite of Raki and Ophelia.

"Wait! You're just going to leave me here like that?" Raki said chasing after them.

"We didn't bring you here. She did." Helen said. She pointed toward Ophelia, eliciting a smile from her. "There's nothing we can do."

"I'm with Clare remember?"

The smile never left Ophelia's face. Complimenting her heart piercing gaze. "No you're not boy, you're with me. And if those two think they can take you then I will forcefully protect my property." Dust flew from under her feet, caused by her tiny display of Yoki.

He couldn't believe it. She had the audacity to say something like that to him. "I'm not going with you. I hate you for what you've done to us." Raki said sternly through inaudible whimpers. Tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Nothing Ophelia said could take away what she'd forced him endure. Because of her he split up with Clare in the first place. There's no way she could make him follow her.

"What I've done to you? You know, I saved you, you could've died back there."

Maybe she didn't get the point. In his mind, this was all her fault. Instead of responding to her, he just followed Helen and Deneve. She doesn't deserve the satisfaction of attention.

However, being the quick witted person she usually is, Ophelia easily thought of something that would grab his interests. "Look boy, If you don't come with me I will have no reason not to find your 'Clare' and choke her with her own intestines." She said with threatening intent.

The two other Claymore's grabbed their swords, but Ophelia noticed them and quickly shut them down. Using the reasoning that there was nothing they could do to stop her from doing as she pleased, whether they were weakened by battle or not."As for you two, this event will be nothing but a distant dream. Understand? The short-haired one must have passed her limits long ago for her to resort to such a way of regeneration. That essentially makes her an awakened. Much like that 'Clare'. Usually I wouldn't even entertain the likes of you to this type of chat before chopping you up, but I need you to tell Clare that I have him. Now go. Unless you think you can take me?"

"So what is it. Be at my side, effectively 'protecting' your precious Clare," She said before the smile grew to insane dimensions and a dark shadow shrouded her features, "Or refuse and let her die a painful, agonizing death by my bare hands, after I slay these two idiots of course. Raki was it? Just imagine the things we could do together, Raki." Her attention focusing back on the subject at hand.

She bathed in the mortified look on Raki's face. Torn between the two options. Neither of which were favorable.

"Are you imagining yet?"

He slowly nodded, shaking and jittering in an uncontrollable manner.

"Stupendous. Now, imagine me cutting those two down. Do you see it? That crimson nectar that you can't get anywhere else."

He nodded once more after looking at the two.

"Now imagine me taking my hand and plucking out Clare's eyeballs like two plump red berries. You can stop that reality. It's in your hands."

He looked down at his hands and visualized them being covered in blood. Ophelia was definitely a crafty master of persuasion. Impressively smithing words to stir other's emotions and manipulate their actions. But he knew that she was also as serious as one could get. Protect Clare and her friends, or wait on a miracle. It wasnt really a fair choice.

"You have ten seconds."

"Nine"

"Eight."

"Seven."

"Six."

To add to the drama of the scene, she stood up and turned around. Beginning to walk opposite of them. Looking over her shoulder. "...Fiiiiiiiivvve." It sounded almost like a song.

Rubbing the tears that tried to manifest themselves from the bottom of his eyes, he finally relented. "I'll go... *sniff*... but you have to promise not to hurt anyone else."

"Sorry. I'm afraid I can't do that. But if it makes you feel any better, I'd be inclined to admire your idiotic bravery were I a fool. Now come this way and take my hand." She said, reaching her hand out for him to grab. After he walked up, they set off in the opposite.

Before they could leave shouting distance Helen yelled out to him. She said, "Stay strong kid! We'll find Clare, and then we'll find you! You need to stay brave!"

Thinking back to this day, they all left knowing that words can only mean so much.


	3. Chapter 3

The Hands of Time

After that day -the day their fates would chang radically- life became geared towards one goal. Their motives were different, but the goal remained the same. It was simple: Complete every one of Ophelia's hopes and desires. Of course Raki hadn't a clue of what her grand plan was. He just wanted to keep his beloved Clare safe from the unyielding grasp of the blood curdling Number 4.

Those words of hers. Promising him that she would stay alive. Giving him no other choice but to do the same. A bright and fiery star in the limitless darkness that ended in a wicked smile. Like the North Star, it guided him. Helping his worried soul. Lifting the fears from his heart every time hope was lost. When he thought of Clare, he knew he wouldn't fail.

Clare became his world. His one lifeline that kept him afloat as he aimlessly drifted through this journey. When he thought back to how useless he was to her, he swore that he would get stronger no matter what obstructed his path. For this reason, he took up sword fighting. Everyday he would beg Ophelia to teach him just a portion of her skills. Training by the minute, he would be able to handle a blade even larger than a Claymore one day. His body was but a vessel through which his soul molded. It was all for Clare.

Ophelia didn't share his sentiments however. She cared little for Raki's emotions. She didn't care for the star. She didn't care for hope. The only thing on her mind was witnessing the pain of those who wronged her. That's why she created a plan to complete this task. Even with the perpetually thickening plot. To teach this boy the swordsmanship of the elites and surpass his natural limits. This wasn't for him, nor was this for that silly little _girl_. This was but another piece of her game.

Every day was more or less the same. As time went by, they would need fewer words to understand each other. It was clear what the perimeters of this relationship were. Raki was little more than a convenient means to an end. When he was hungry, he gained the ability to fast. When he was tired, he gained the ability stay awake. When he was sick, he gained the ability to persevere.

At least that's how he viewed it. Depriving him of basic human needs. No compassion. No sympathy. She was merciless, and he couldn't help but feel a strong sense of hatred for her.

However, even with all of her vitriol poured onto his being, Clare remained at the end of his dark tunnel. "Stay alive" were the only words he needed. To him, those were his wings. They kept him soaring. When the months and weeks melted into years, they kept him soaring. These wings kept him soaring even when the days became blurs. Suffering rarely ever feels this strange. In comparison Ophelia wasn't as bad as being without his reason for being.

The blurs would become indistinguishable until Ophelia was given her usual job of leading an awakened being hunt. Her hunts were moments of realization for both parties. Sometimes he would find himself not caring, and run into battle with no training or purpose. Knowledgeable of the fact that he was an insect to them.

These were the things Ophelia hated. Foolish bravery in every sense, the thought that one is impervious to death. A deep seeded hatred that went back years into her past. For this, she was going to break this boy. Crush him like the fragile toy he was. Then she was going to build new one out of his remains. Yes, she was going to build a Raki in her image.

"How strong do you think you've gotten since we first met?" She suddenly asked him one night. Between them was a fire, illuminating the darkness of the scene, separating the two bodies. Raki, sitting on top of his sleeping mat with crossed legs, had his eyes closed. Listening to the swamp's natural symphonic productions. She looked at his still face.

"I asked you a question." She said once more.

"I don't know." He responded, looking away from her silver eyes. Lost in his own world of thought.

"How has your technique been progressing then." She tried to shift the direction of her inquiries.

"Great I suppose. Killing those things are becoming second nature. Last time I fought one I was hit, though." Answered Raki, meeting her pupils. Reminiscing back to an encounter with a Yoma. His voice could best be described as deep and somber now. Many things have happened since their union at the small village when he was just a small, bird pitched boy.

Seven years have passed. The years, to Raki, were very long and hard to keep track of. To Ophelia, they flew past her much like dragonfly in the marshes around them. Her own eyes witnessed him grow into what he was now. Compared to back then he was no doubt stronger. Gauging by how much he ate at once, how great the difference in their heights have reversed, and how much of a workhorse he had became alone.

"Hmmm... at this rate, even the lowest awakened being will certainly be your demise." She had a tinge of seriousness in her demeanor, though she still confused him to great levels. Part of her unstable nature. "Anyways, I'm only asking because tomorrow morning we will be going on another hunt. Have you ever been to the north?"

"Well, I've only been with you for the last seven years, and my family died long ago in the south before I met her. So no, I can't say that I have. Why?"

"We will have to travel to the north. It's infested with awakened ones. My job is to hunt down the creatures that aren't working in groups. Our orders are to leave when fleeing is the only option, a choice the earlier squad was not given."

"Then I should get some rest? You really didn't have to tell me this now." As he said these words, he threw himself down on his bedding. Stretching himself with the laziest of motions.

"Did I mention the earlier squad's members? That's where your little friend from earlier was sent seven years ago," Ophelia told him just before his eyes closed, "You see, a rather large group of us were sent there to kill the massing awakened beings. I was fortunate enough not to be drafted. Sadly, I cannot say the same about... her. I asked myself many times whether or not I should have told you for a long time, but since we're heading north I thought I'd give you an objective to look for."

"What are trying to tell me?" Raki asked nervously.

"Of all the warriors that were sent there, guess who made it back? That's right. Absolutely none of them returned. Maybe while we're up there we'll visit Pieta and look for any corpses to exhume? What do you think? I've been just dying to know myself."

The expression of Raki's face showed how far his heart had sunken. No matter how hard he fought it off, the expression stayed on his face. It looked like he was stricken instantly with a soul devouring disease. Closing his eyes, he lie down with his hands cuffed beneath his head, and said with dry lips, "Whatever."

"Oh my, I just had the most wonderful revelation. You could probably identify her rotten, worm feeding, disfigured, and unrecognizable body just by seeing it once. You most definitely could, could you not?" She said, attempting to further shake his essence.

"Ophelia, I'm trying to sleep. You can stop talking now."

"Why? That's the only rational reason she could have to explain her never coming to save you. Unless she grew wise and left you in my loving care."

"Shut up." Raki near demanded with steel in his tone.

Now, with her sarcasm waning, and her unstable emotions beginning to surface, she chose to not provoke him any further. "Seems I have struck a nerve? I apologize. Do you wish to hear a story before you go to bed as a pardon on my behalf?"

Raki only nodded slightly, stifling what actually felt like small tears. Pathetic, he thought, were his actions. There is no need for him to cry now. Tears should fall from his tired eyes no longer. This was the last time he let any other person see even a sparkle in the corner of his eye.

Ophelia noticed his attempts to fend off his worries, but she felt no sympathy. At least, that's what she believed. That feeling the started to crawl its way into her heart was not pity, but disgust. However, even with her influx of agitation, she calmed herself and attempted to put an end to his emotional misery.

"Unfortunately for you, that story would best be told at a different time. I'll see you in the morning. Sleep with anticipation, Raki, as you will need it in the north."

Although her words fell on preoccupied ears, he still took her suggestions to his brain's archives. Just the thought of Clare not keeping her promise tremendously bothered him. To add further issue, this would mean Ophelia was correct from the beginning. To think that you cannot die because you have someone to protect was nothing more than a foolish illusion for the weak. More than anything however, he begged for his lifeline not to be severed.

So that night he prayed. Longer and more sincere than any time before. He prayed that Clare was alive, so she didn't yet break her promise to him.


	4. Chapter 4

In the Wake of Obsession, Insanity

As far as the eye could see, there was white. Accompanying the blinding white blanket was the skin piercing needles of the frigid air. The skies were almost always dark, like it had a night that was 24 hours long. This was the north, frozen and blue, just like the long dead town of Pieta that Raki and Ophelia chose to visit.

Blood had been splayed out on the floor like a carpet. Painting the white snow with artistic poise. More and more would pile up as it dripped from Raki's left abdominal oblique. Her received the blow from one of his combatants, a Yoma- the other being a Yoma as well, who's raw strength could surpass the average human by a substantial amount. However, this creature was not facing an average human.

The tail of his hooded cloak flew in the wind as he twisted about in the air. Just enough movement to Dodge the incoming projectiles, but not enough that it wasted large amounts of energy. When either of the creatures would attack the man, his large broadsword would parry with slick precision before closing the distance without them even noticing. Soon, he was close enough to duck under a wild slash aimed at his head then hacked the beast in two halves.

Ophelia's face lit up at the landing of the blow. Clapping her hands and smiling ear to ear from her seat atop a battered building, laughing with cheerful tones.

As the other Yoma set in on the cloaked bladesman, it's view became obstructed by the cloth. Raki ingeniously used the spinning movement of his body after swinging the huge sword to send his cloak into the eyes of his attacker. This temporary blindness opened up an opportunity for him to strike- and with the momentum moving with the weapon from the spinning- cutting the monster down in one blow was rather easy.

"Outstanding performance!" Shouted the grinning onlooker before jumping from a nearby rooftop. Dusting off her skirt of armor when she stood. "You made it look effortless this time, even after taking such a hard hit to the body. I truly am amazed at how effective my teachings are. But you can't keep taking hits like that. One of them may be your last."

It took them 3 months to reach the north from their previous place of operations. 3 long months of training, fighting, and waiting anxiously. Waiting to finally reach the town of Pieta and answer their questions. What horrors awaited them in the dark, frozen abyss? What happened to all the Claymores sent to this dreadful excuse of a village? Was this the end of Clare's journey, thus meaning the end of theirs? Somewhere in this broken mess of rubble was a story that filled in all of their thoughts.

Raki hadn't talked a whole lot since he thought of Clare 3 months ago. What Ophelia said really wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him in a trance of obsession. All he could think of was Clare. Images of her being indiscriminately disposed of by a dirty awakened being. Her body off in a trench somewhere, unmarked and nameless, decomposing like she was nothing but a throw-away foot soldier. His special star that kept him guided finally burning out. The only thing he cared about for seven lonely years.

Maybe if he'd been able to think about something other than her, he'd have noticed how warped his life had become. Yet, even being with Ophelia for years, he couldn't. Every ounce of his life was for Clare. If she dies then he has nothing left to even live for.

It was because of Ophelia's constant iron grip on his being that pushed him into this world. Because of her darkness finally seeping into Raki's volatile heart with no light to illuminate the cavern of his soul.

The sky grew pitch black outside. Even the the bright white snow would be invisible to the naked eye. After the brief skirmish from earlier, they walked around in search of any clues. Looking for even the tiniest piece of evidence. A small trace to find their answers.

"Still nothing. You think we're skipping over something?" Raki said.

His companion was silent, currently eyeing a strange image in the distance. It looked like a huge burial. She strafed back and forth. Concentrating on the indistinguishable contents of the site. "Can you see that out there?" Loudly speaking so he could hear her through the heavy winds of the night, pointing.

"What is it?"

"A bunch of swords, it seems," she said, "Looks like we may have found what we were looking for."

Two sets of feet trudged through the thick piles of ice, hoping that their destination held the answer to their question. Their toes sinking deep into the deceiving mounds. Moving steadily with intent and readiness.

As they came up on the grave site, they noticed how aged everything looked. There were swords jammed deep into the ice that were now half covered in frost. Swords that leaned in certain directions. Swords that grew dull and lusterless over time. Even with the element of time, the burial seemed to be well groomed. Like someone or something kept the place clean.

Raki, who had only a smidgen of understanding for Claymore tradition, saw this as a signal that Clare's flicker had indeed been smothered out. Ophelia was far more knowledgable than him however. She looked over at the sulking figure beside her.

"She must have forgotten you then," She said with just a hint of a condescending resonance, "Look around if you don't believe me. None of these swords have her symbol. There were 24 warriors here, yet I only count 16 blades. Someone obviously had to have dug the graves also."

After closer inspection, he found that she was telling the truth. He didn't know much about Claymore lifestyle outside of what Clare and Ophelia exposed him to, but he did remember every little thing about Clare. From the pattern of wrinkles in her small, pink lips, to the symbol given to her by her overseers. He frantically observed each sword. Not one had her symbol.

"Now I knew we would find out something grand here, but not anything of this magnitude. With this development the pendulum seems to finally be swinging in our direction. How do you feel about that pendulum?" Ophelia said through wide silver eyes and her trademark lesser grin, the not-yet-heart-shiveringly-sadistic smile.

Her words: "Pendulum."

Pendulum...

_ ...pendulum._

Like the instrument, his thoughts moved back and forth, as if his emotions were a pendulum. Everything Ophelia said seemed to make sense to him now. Initially, he felt she was the cause of all his woes, for he would be at Clare's side had she never met this woman. Perhaps he was confused. Perhaps Ophelia truly did have some sort of grasp on reality that he and Clare had not yet found. Perhaps she was the hand holding his illuminating lantern, Clare.

In this moment, he could feel the heavy pendulum coming down on him. He was trapped. Tied to the tables of irreversible reality. A fate that cannot be stopped, and that pendulum came down on his defenseless body with unrelenting power. His entire being screamed that Ophelia was not the angel that he thinks now. That Clare is out somewhere thinking of him. Though, the realist in him saw that as mere... _foolishness_. This belief that Clare was alive and spent seven years thinking of him as her lifeline as he did her. Maybe he felt deep down inside that she survived because of him. Though, his realist side doubted it. His identity shifted closer and closer to that of Ophelia's.

Why, if Clare cared for him on the same scale, did she not immediately come for him? The promise from years ago. They'd meet again some day, he thought. However, that day seemed to take an eternity to come true. For over 2,655 days, he waited. And waited. And waited. Obsession at its highest purity, and this obsession seems to have made him emotionally volatile and unstable. Thus, as the pendulum of thoughts and emotions ripped open his chest, he felt something speak to him from the depths of his heart. He wished more than anything that Clare had not forgotten him. Even if that meant that one of them was better off dead.

So he spoke softly. "I feel dead."

Ophelia graciously accepted her victory. Championing his allegiance after molding him so intricately. Yet this was not the time to celebrate. She could feel a Yoma entity's presence nearby. More specifically, a Claymore's. It was as familiar as it was weak, yet it was different.

There was no way this woman was even half Yoma.

**A/N: So yeah, Raki's gone crazy now that Claymore has reached its final chapter- of course. I for one don't blame him. :Jokes: Hope you don't mind my long notes- as they do keep me connected with you guys and allow you guys to understand just what goes on in my head as I'm writing.**

**I apologize for the wait, so I dropped two chapters as an apology (last one was more of a transitional thing). Been busy with life, had major writers block, was doubting my writing once more, have been reaching out to other amazing participants of this beautiful fanfic category (that is Claymore section), etc. You know how it is. Anyways hope you're enjoying, and I do pray that Claymore has a strong community to keep us supplied for generations. Now we can write and read with our hearts at ease. You guys are wonderful, truly.**

**Next two or three chapters should wrap up this story, give or take. Then I can go back to writing softcore porrrr...fectly within the guidelines, stories of romance. Also, I challenge you to guess the outcome I've been foreshadowing since chapter one! Hint* it's not love or hate.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm enjoying writing this one alot! I get to be as gore-y and dark as I want to be. Also, I have the added bonus of already knowing the ending! You guys had to wait two years for it hahaha! :) Check out _Utterly Human Sensations _for an equally investing but slightly less heart wrenching tale. I don't use a beta, but my writing skills have grown exponentially, however I'm in the process of rewriting all my entries. Enjoy!**

**Setting the Stage for War**

* * *

The setting was too dark, too obstructed by particles of snow for a mere human to make out much of anything. However, Ophelia is no lowly human. Her heightened senses and aura sensing allowed her to pick up even the pathetic and faint yoki of that loathsome girl from earlier. Like a snowball, finding her aura allowed her to pinpoint seven distinct auras, all surrounding her and Raki. Ophelia weighed her odds. She knew she could take all of them one on one- even up to three on one. Seven, on the other hand, would likely spell her demise.

So she spoke diplomatically; loud enough that they could hear her through the whirling whips of freezing wind and rational enough that that they didn't choose to take arms. "My goodness, it seems as though we've stumbled across something that someone important to us wanted to keep secret."

Raki was still amidst his catatonic stupor. His mind snapped to, from, and beyond reality. He was so intensely focused on reignited his guiding torch that he'd forgot to properly dress his rather large and dripping wound. The pain was indescribable, something he'd never wish on even his worst of enemies, and was only exacerbated by the frigid air, yet he left it open to fester as he festered.

"You should fix that wound, Raki, before it's too late," Ophelia advised, most audibly in the direction towards the quarter-blood, "and before I get excited." Her wicked creeping in.

Then there was a loud thud in front of the two.

Something drew Raki back to the present. It was dark and much too frenzied to see even two feet in front of him, but he could make out that silhouette anywhere. He could make out that short, cropped bob haircut, and that height. He could make out the valleys of her figure. He just needed confirmation.

"Raki, is that... Really you?" The voice said, bouncing around in his ears and easily becoming recognizable. He could pick out that voice in an amalgam of louder sounds.

He couldn't speak, but his mind shouted "Clare! She's here! She's back for me!" hundreds of times.

Ophelia seethed silently. When the warrior began to encroach on her and Raki's position, she gripped her blade and ruffled a cloud of snow with her display of power- she was losing control. Six more thuds could be heard around their position.

"One step closer and I'll send your head into the snow you stand on!" She snarled.

"Number 4, please think reasonably. We have no intentions to kill you as doing so would compromise our concealment and make us targets of the organization." An eerily familiar voice said authoritatively from her left side. She walked within view and displayed her wild, spiky hair. It was the former number 6, Phantom Miria.

Ophelia couldn't contain her elation. She grinned so powerfully one could make out each individual tooth, even in the white of the north. The laugh that accompanied it mocked Miria's demeanor, but did not shake her resolve.

"Oh, this is just too good," Ophelia said in between chuckles, "So what business do you two have with me? Other than some half-baked, pointlessly contrived ploy for revenge, I have nothing for you. You'd be better off forgetting this encounter."

"We want to take him and to warn you about an impeding war." She said matter-of-factly.

"You won't get this boy. You'll die if you come anywhere near him!"

"You're outnumbered, bitch!" Another voice chimed in. Ophelia recognized it too. It belonged to the warrior with the elastic arms from seven years ago. Helen, was it?

"Listen, we'll offer you an exchange. You give us Clare's comrade and we'll give you information on what dangers lie ahead of the Organization and its ranks." Miria stated.

"You'll have to kill me first!" She exclaimed maniacally, brandishing her weapon. There was something about turning him over that sent her over the edge. He wasn't there's to take from her. His integral nature within her plans made him a necessity.

"That's it, no negotiations, she's a snake she'll try to kill us anyway!" Another familiar voiced shouted, this time coming from the warrior with short hair who now wielded two blades, both coming down on Ophelia's crown. "You want to die so bad!? Fine!"

Ophelia jumped out of her path but was met by three other unknown assailants mid air, all with full intent to incapacitate her. She craftily weaved their strikes as well. Quickly, a warrior sporting a similar braid to Ophelia's was decapitated after she failed to see through her techniques. She tried to block, but the mighty warrior's blade bashed through her guard, crush bone and sinew, leaving a trail of blood in its path.

Raki stood by in astonishment. His reason for being was right in his path, the only obstruction being his tormentor, who was currently engaged in combat. It was too earth-shattering to capitalize upon; he could not gather his bearings. Then Clare vanished in a myriad of snow and flashes. She was now part of the battle. All the while, his gaping side remained exposed.

Another attempted to block low, but Ophelia rippled her sword, like the undulations of a snake, and sliced one her right in two. The dual pig-tailed combatant lie in a pool of viscera and blood, spitting up copious amounts of her own vital fluids. This fueled Ophelia's desire for battle like a stimulant coursing through her veins.

Amongst the commotion, another warrior chose two stop and grieve, exclaiming a loud "Cynthia!" moments before being bisected laterally- from head to toe- by a downward strike from Ophelia. Her hair, which extended to down her back, was now parted and dyed crimson. Her organs and other innards piled up below her eviscerated figure, the remaining pink tendons stretching and tugging against one another until each half fell to the earth with a resounding 'thud.'

"Oops, looks like you're down two," Ophelia said facetiously, "You're gonna need another set of burials." She licked the blood splotches from beneath her nostrils, eliciting a thrilling, chilling tremble from her head down her spine and back up again.

Ophelia targeted the weaker ones, hoping to work he way up. It was a good plan until Clare, Miria,and Helen unleashed their trademark moves.

Ophelia battled two fronts. On one side, Miria's phantom mirage blitzed her without end; the other had Helen attacking from a safe distance, with Deneve keeping any of Ophelia's retaliatory offense at bay.

"Shit!" Ophelia cursed, becoming overwhelmed. One particularly hard blow from Deneve opened her up to an unforeseen attack by the former number 6, damaging her enough to send her to a completely defensive stance. Her sword arm was only barely usable by this point.

However, instead of cower, she laughed in the face of death. She was dying a noble death, not protecting Raki but simply preserving what was rightfully hers until the very end.

She rebuffed Miria's assault and spun around to boot the dual-wielding bladeswoman so hard in the mouth that saliva and teeth became projectiles. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she noticed number 47 sneaking in. In an instant, she unleashed a new furious attack, which lacerated Ophelia thousand of times across her body with just one arm. Ophelia tried to stand and weather the assault, but the force sent her cursing her own callousness and she collapsed to the pressure. She faded in and out of consciousness.

Everything became incoherent and indiscernible. She could only hear mumbles and gibberish, and only make out vague, almost humanoid figures in her field of vision. It came to her realization that this may be the end of her journey. All she could do was curse the existence of that stupid girl, her limbs hadn't any power to even protect herself. She absolutely abhorred that girl.

There was a loud clash of steel just above her neck, and she came to enough to see two blades only millimeters away from her nose. She followed one blade to its wielder, it was Clare sporting a surprised, terrified, and angry expression at once. Her eyes reversed trajectories, following the elongated chrome of the other blade to its wielder. It was the boy, Raki, wincing in pain.

He diverted Clare's blade and entered an improvised stance to account for the extremely painful gash that began to turn red at its borders.

"What the hell, kid! Move! Don't you wanna send this bitch back to hell!?" Helen shouted lividly.

"I... I don't know," Raki panted through painful inhalations of cold air, "I don't know anything anymore."

Helen lost her patience and set in, but her colleague placed her hand against her breast. She silently urged her to calm down. "Is there any reason for this?" Miria inquired, sheathing her weapon.

"I guess I owe her my life."

Clare followed suit, sheathing her weapon, but closed her eyes and solemnly switched expressions. Now her face wore no emotions. She said no words to Raki.

"And what of Clare?" Miria asked.

"I owe her something else. We'll meet again." Raki answered. His breathes, labored and causing immense pain, were momentarily subsided by the light smile he often showed Clare.

"And you, Clare?" Miria continued.

She continued to stay in her state of expressionless, emotionless contemplation for several moments before opening her eyes. "We'll meet again."

"Then take her and leave here immediately. When she wakes up, tell her our names. Tell her who she lost to, tell her you're the only reason she still has her head..." Miria turned and was about to vanish.

In that moment, Raki took the chance to ask, "What about this 'war?"

Miria didn't turn back around, but answered in full. "There was an assembly of awakened beings being put together by the abyssal ones. They plan to attack one another soon. The chaos and destruction caused by Isley, Riful, Dauf, and, especially, Priscilla, is likely to reduce our continent to nothing more than rubble. We urge you to tell the Organization to ready their forces. The battle will come to them- and we will be the ones who bring it to them." She, and the other warriors, left shortly after.

Clare took the chance to get one last look in Raki's eyes. The little boy she once knew had grown- most ostensibly due to his eyes. They looked the same, as did his smile, but they were not. She could not recognize these eyes' story, but she could see that boy behind the gaze. She could hear his faint whispers cry out to her soul. She left with trepidation, a foreboding sense of dread casted over that soul of hers.

But she wasn't going to run from it. She was going to blindly head straight forward into that shadowy unknown; she was determined to get her companion back at all costs. Somehow, she could feel that one of them must fall so he could be free. Her; Ophelia; or even himself.


End file.
